


Going Up

by queeniegalore



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angry!sex, Fighting, Frottage, M/M, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the Blackhawks/Coyotes game where Bollig and Biz got into it on the ice. I was prompted to write a drabble about them getting off with each other in an elevator after the game, but instead I wrote 4000 words of angry sex with an undertone of Bollig/Shaw, just for kicks. Uh. Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Up

**Author's Note:**

> No thanks at all to s-endeavour on tumblr, because this is ALL HER FAULT. Also, shout out to puckling, as always, for her beta work. Protip if you ever need something looked at - send puck your g-doc and include a message like 'this is just the first rough draft, I haven't done any editing yet' and wait for her to be overcome with the temptation to correct all your typos and fix all your dodgy sentences. THANKS BABE.
> 
> Full disclosure - I came THIS CLOSE to calling this 'Getting Bizzy'. Obviously I restrained myself, but it'll always be called that ~in my heart.

  
"Bollig!”  
  
Brandon was standing in the middle of the hotel lobby, looking around for a candy machine or something, when he heard someone call his name. He turned around and frowned in irritation as Paul Bissonnette jogged up to him, a wide smile on his stupid face. Though surprised, Brandon was viciously pleased to see a bruise forming on the edge of his jaw, a cut swelling his lower lip. He tongued his own, matching, cut, and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Hey. The fuck are you doing here?"  
  
Biz stopped in front of him and let his grin turn into a smirk as he looked Brandon up and down, took in his shorts and thin white t--shirt, the bruises coming up on his face and collar bone. Biz looked dressed to go out, skinny jeans and boots, a tight raglan tee that strained around his biceps. He looked - whatever, he looked more stylish than Brandon wandering around in practically his pjs.  
  
"I've got a friend who was down for the game staying in this hotel. I didn't know you guys were here as well," Biz was saying unrepentantly, and reached out to slap Brandon lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, nice little fight, eh? You were cute. Good effort."  
  
Oh, he _had_ to be kidding. Brandon felt his irritation grow as Biz looked at him expectantly. Fuck, he'd come down to the lobby just to go for a walk, get something junky to eat, try and clear his head enough so he could get some sleep. If he was being honest, to get away from Shawzy for a bit, from all the crazy tension that had been sparking up between them recently. And now he had to deal with _this_ shit. Having Biz all up in his face made his fingertips tingle, his heart rise up into his throat - residual adrenaline from the game, he guessed, and from the fight. Or hell, maybe Biz just inspired that reaction in _everyone_ he met, all the time.  
  
Brandon shrugged the hand off. "Thanks, man. Maybe next time I'll go up against your goalie,” he said in a low voice. “Yeah? He seemed to go alright against his stick, nice he won _something_ tonight."  
  
Biz's smile dropped. Brandon smirked, he'd never met a bruiser who wasn't protective as fuck about their goalie, and Biz was definitely no exception.  
  
“So. See ya.” Brandon nodded, slapped Biz’s shoulder right back, and turned to walk the few steps over to the elevator. He stabbed at the button, wanting to make a quick exit, and watched impatiently as the the light made its torturously slow way down to the lobby.  
  
And Biz was still fucking there, coming up to lean nonchalantly against the wall in front of him. "You got a smart mouth," he drawled, and Brandon licked his lips automatically, blinking at the sharp slice of pain as his tongue swiped over the cut in the corner. Biz was  watching him closely, and Brandon was shaky and edgy, almost bouncing on his toes with tension.  
  
"You gonna do something about it?" he asked without thinking, and flushed as Biz looked amused.  
  
"Why Mr. Bollig, are you coming onto me?” he asked, laughing. Brandon stared back at the elevator doors, willing with all his might for them to open so he could - not escape, but kind of that.  
  
Shit, Biz was sorta hot, though.  
  
"Fuck you," he said absently, and Biz laughed some more.  
  
"Sure, man."  
  
Finally, then, the elevator pinged and the doors opened. Brandon stepped in, and he wasn't sure if his heart sank or jumped as Biz got right in with him.  
  
"Seriously?" he bitched, as Biz reached out and pressed the button for the highest guest floor. Brandon was getting off earlier, but Biz was blocking the buttons and Brandon decided to leave it for the minute in favor of frowning at his dumb face again. Bruised and rough and a little bit sexy, yeah, but still fucking dumb.  
  
Biz ignored the look. "You're trembling," he pointed out obnoxiously, and Brandon flinched. Biz sounded almost sympathetic, _understanding_ , as he went on. "The adrenaline, right? It can take a while to come down, eh."  
  
Brandon let out a long breath and clenched his hands into fists at his sides.  
  
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I couldn't sleep, so I was just going for a walk to clear my head."  
  
Biz nodded, and fuck, this elevator was slow as shit. They were only a couple of floors up, and already Brandon knew that much more time in close quarters with Biz was gonna be dangerous.  
  
"I find boxing helps, if you've got someone to spar with," Biz said casually, and then let his voice drop into an absolutely _filthy_ drawl as he added, "Or sex, if you've got someone to fuck."  
  
Brandon hissed in a breath. Biz's gaze was knowing, still amused, and Brandon wanted _so bad to_ punch him in the face again.  
  
He was also getting just a little hard in his shorts, but he was really trying to pretend that wasn't happening.  
  
"No, I don't have anyone to fuck," he said, voice tight, and Biz raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Not even your little mutt upstairs? I-"  
  
Brandon was moving before he even _thought_ about it, slamming Biz into the wall of the elevator, fists bunched in his shirt.  
  
"Don't you fucking call him that," he said quietly, heart-rate shooting back up.  
  
" _You_ call him that," Biz pointed out. He didn't seem too worried about the aggression, and fuck, that got Brandon even more worked up. He wanted this fucking obnoxious hipster asshole to give him something _back_. Brandon’s erection was getting harder to ignore, and this was crazy, but he was sure he wasn’t reading it wrong, sure they were on the same page... But it was _Biz_ , and he was a fucking irritating bastard, and Brandon god, Brandon wasn’t even sure why he was going there.  
  
"I can call Shaw that because he's _mine_ ," he said, and he mostly just meant 'mine' as in friend, teammate, but Biz gave him a _look_.  
  
"So you are fucking him," he said, and Brandon groaned, shoving him harder into the wall. He thought of Shawzy upstairs, lounging around in his boxers, driving Brandon fucking _nuts_ with how bad he wanted what he couldn't have. He deliberately pushed that image out of his mind, but it still left him hot, frustrated, and Biz was _right there_.  
  
"I'm not fucking Shaw," he insisted, and Biz was apparently done with  all the rough handling, because he shoved _back_ , and then it was Brandon's turn to be slammed, up against the wall and breathless before he even knew what was happening.  
  
"So we're good to go, then?" Biz asked, a little impatient, so fucking cocky that Brandon snarled and punched him in the ribs, got one in the gut back that left him gasping.  
  
Fuck, _fuck_ , he was so turned on, and he couldn't even try to ignore it any more. Everything hurt, his knuckles were screaming at him again, all his muscles were aching and yeah, his dick was seriously into everything that was happening. God he loved this shit, he'd stopped trying to deny that to himself years ago. And there wasn’t much point in denying that Paul Bissonnette, standing there with his tan skin and his terrible nose, his hard mouth and harder body, was pretty much _walking sex_ to Brandon right then.  
  
"You're an asshole, Bissonnette," he spat, and Biz's smile was just dirty.  
  
"I'm an asshole with a hard dick for you, though," he said, and yeah, the way he was pressed against Brandon from shoulders to toes made that pretty obvious. Brandon shifted against him, just the slightest press forward, and they both sucked in sharp breaths.  
  
"Why would I, with you?" Brandon asked, but it was purely rhetorical, and Biz had to know.  
  
"Because punching each other turns us both on," Biz said frankly, pressing his cock into him in a slow, filthy slide. Brandon let his head fall back against the wall with a groan as Biz experimentally fucked against him a few times, pressing their dicks together through their clothes.  
  
Brandon didn't know when his grip on Biz had turned into an embrace, but suddenly he had one hand hooked over Biz's shoulder, the other squeezing the thick muscle of his side, and damn, there weren't many men who could make Brandon feel _matched_ like this. He liked it more than he'd thought he would.  
  
This dry humping in an elevator shit was gonna be unsatisfying as hell, though, and Brandon looked at the floor levels as Biz braced himself and started thrusting harder, like it was gonna get them anywhere in time.  
  
"Not gonna be able to finish this in here, man," he panted, and Biz grunted unhappily.  
  
"Figure it out, Bollig," he said. "Wanna fucking come."  
  
Brandon closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose. Biz smelled like clean sweat and cotton, a hint of soap, a hint of sex. Yeah, Brandon fucking wanted this too.  
  
"Can't go to my room, Shawzy's there," he said, and Biz snickered.  
  
"It's sweet that you wanna treat me right like that," he muttered. "But I promise you, I'm not a nice girl."  
  
Brandon growled, and tightened his grip on Biz's side until he knew he'd leave bruises.  
  
"Fuck you, then, I'll screw you in a closet somewhere, cover you in jizz and send you back out like that," he snapped, and Biz looked him in the eye as he grinned sharply, licking his teeth.  
  
"Yeah, now you're getting the idea."  
  
Brandon's dick twitched at that, at the thought that Biz needed this to be as dirty and messy and nasty as Brandon did. He reached down and grabbed Biz's ass, pulling him in hard.  
  
"You're really fucked up," he said.  
  
Biz shrugged. "Takes one to know one, babe," he said, like the fucking twelve year old boy he apparently was. He was right, though, so Brandon chose to ignore it.  
  
"Don't call me that," he said, and gave Biz's ass a vicious squeeze as they reached the top floor. "Come on."  
  
"This is where we get off?" Biz asked sleazily, stepping away from Brandon as the doors opened. Brandon rolled his eyes and adjusted himself in his shorts.  
  
"Do you ever stop?" he asked as they got out and looked up and down the deserted hall.  
  
"Not really. Hey, there's gotta be a supply closet or something around here..." Biz wandered off, and Brandon shook his head and followed, cursing under his breath.  
  
Again, he thought of Shawzy upstairs waiting for him, thought of the pointless back-and-forth dance they'd been doing, how they'd never gotten anywhere with it. And again, he deliberately pushed that that thought out of his head. Wasn’t gonna do him any good, not now, not when he could be staring at Biz's ass in his douchey, trendy jeans, big and muscled, straining the denim at the seams. Brandon didn't know why he thought screwing around with a hockey player who wore skinny jeans was a good idea. Maybe his brain had been knocked around a little too much when Biz had, you know, punched him in the face.  
  
In fact, that was probably the best explanation for all of this, because he was still trembling, and his cock was still rock hard, and he thought if he didn't get a hand on it soon he might actually pass out. It wasn’t _fair_ that Biz affected him like this, but there it fucking was.  
  
"Here,” Biz said suddenly, and veered left into a little alcove, opening a door and peering in. "Get in here, this'll do."  
  
It was a janitor’s closet and it smelled strongly of bleach and aggressively clean linen, but Biz was right, it'd do. They crowded in together, and they hardly fit - they were the same height, probably around the same weight - but it didn’t matter. The door was hardly shut behind them before they were at each other again, rough and hard, grabbing and pushing and squeezing, and for the first time they kissed, almost as ugly as the fight had been.  
  
" _Fuck_." Brandon had never had to fight so hard to be in control, had never had to consider the idea that he might _lose_ , that he might be _forced_ to. "Fuck yeah, come on," he mumbled against Biz's wet mouth, and Biz was breathing _hard_ , grunting as he tried to muscle Brandon up against the shelves with his body, his big hands going straight to the waistband of Brandon's shorts.  
  
"Wish I could," he said, nuzzling his face against Brandon's beard in a way that'd be almost sweet if he also wasn't trying to body-slam him into what felt like about ten bottles of cleaning fluid. "God, I'd love to fuck you right now."  
  
"Not a chance," Brandon gasped, but he closed his eyes and let himself think about it for a second anyway, let himself imagine it and _fuck_ it, he could run his mouth too when he wanted. "You fucking wish, man, you wanna fuck me up against the wall, wanna open me up and get into me like that? You thinking about that?"  
  
"Chirp, chirp," Biz said nonsensically, voice a mess, and Brandon grinned. He reached down, pressed his hand against the thick bulge of Biz's cock, felt him jerk forward into it.  
  
"All you do is talk," Biz went on, and shoved his hand against Brandon's, pushing it down harder. "Yeah I wanna screw you, I'd fuckin' love it and so would you." He crashed their mouths together for another bruising kiss as he finally got Brandon's shorts undone, tried to shove them down with one hand.  
  
Brandon untangled his fingers from Biz's to grab his own cock, letting out a groan of pleasure, as he gave it a few slow strokes. Biz watched, lips parted, tonguing the corner of his mouth. "The fuck are you waiting for?" Brandon asked, and spat in his hand, knocked his forehead gently against the side of Biz's head. "Get it the fuck out, let's do this."  
  
"Shit, yes." Biz was shaking too, Brandon noticed with satisfaction, as he undid his jeans and pulled himself out. And Brandon wasn't gonna get out a tape measure or anything, but it looked like they were pretty evenly matched there, too, which was a little bit of a relief, and a lot of a turn on. He reached out, and rubbed his palm over the head of Biz's cock, felt how smooth it was, just a little drag of wetness at the tip.  
  
"You wanna jerk off, or - " Brandon asked as Biz hiked up his t-shirt with one hand, showing off his abs. Biz shook his head.  
  
"Like this, come on, let's do it how we need it," he said, and Brandon was even more confused for a moment until Biz grabbed him around the waist, and now they were back in the same position as in the elevator, except their dicks were touching, _grinding_ , and oh, fuck, it was gonna be rough and messy and _perfect_.  
  
Brandon groaned and bit Biz's shoulder through his t-shirt, squeezing his eyes shut as they started clumsily fucking together, trying to find a rhythm. He wanted to hit Biz again, or _be_ hit, or drop to his knees or spin Biz around and fuck him until he screamed. All of that and more, and _harder_ , and what he had was this bruising, frantic screw, and it was gonna get him there just as fast.  
  
“Thought about this right before you punched me in the face,” Biz panted into his neck, all wet and biting teeth and _heat_. “The way you looked at me, didn’t know if you wanted to fuck me up or just fuck me.”  
  
“Both,” Brandon said, and it was true, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He hitched a knee up, resting his heel on a low shelf and trying to use the leverage to get more friction. Fuck, _fuck_ , it wasn’t enough, the rough slide just on the edge of too painful, too uncomfortable to work. “This - this is good too.”  
  
“Better if we were bleeding,” Biz grunted, and his cock was leaving sticky-slick smears of precome all over Brandon’s abs, collecting in the grooves, pooling in his belly button. “Fuck, you make me wanna hit you, make me wanna cream my jeans for you, you fucking -”  
  
“Yeah, keep it up.” Brandon got a hand between them, twisted awkwardly, and tried to wrap it around both of them together. Biz punched him in the shoulder, pushed him back against the shelves with his fist.  
  
“Fuck you, jerk me off,” Brandon said, breathing hard, sweaty and on his way to being fucking _wrecked_. “I wanna come, Biz, I’m so fucking close, just jerk me the fuck off.”  
  
“I could make you say please,” Biz said, but he was reaching down, wrapping his big, rough hand around Brandon’s cock and tugging. “ _Nice_ ,” he added appreciatively, eyes hot as he stared down at what he was doing. Brandon jerked forward, embarrassed by how much that turned him on.  
  
“Keep talking,” he muttered, dropping his head forward to land on Biz’s shoulder. “Come on, you never shut up, talk to me.”  
  
“You want a bit of dirty talk, kid?” Biz asked, his voice low and deep in Brandon’s ear as he stroked his cock, and it was too hard and too quick, all wrong but fucking amazing anyway.  
  
“Biz,” Brandon whispered. “Biz.” He wasn’t gonna say please, but it was _right there_. He was pumping his hips forward, pushing into Biz, all thick and hard and big all over, and he was gonna come, shit, he was gonna come right fucking -  
  
“Maybe next time I’ll make you take my cock. Don’t care if Shaw’s in your room, don’t care if I have to do it in front of your whole _team_. Yeah, next time you’re fucking taking it, Bollig, and you’re gonna _love_ it.”  
  
Brandon surged forward, bit Biz hard to muffle his moans, and came hot and messy all over Biz’s fist, drops splattering on his abs, on the floor between them. He felt like his skin was on fire, like he’d just taken a hit against the boards, and everything still fucking hurt like hell but that just made it so much better.  
  
“Oh my god,” he groaned, and slumped against Biz’s chest, hands loose on his hips. “Fuck.”  
  
Biz shoved at him. “Hey, wake up, you’re not done yet,” he said, and there was a hint of desperation in his voice that made Brandon look up, that made heat flare back to life in his gut.  
  
“Should be making _you_ say please, you asshole,” he said, and dropped heavily to his knees, smirking at the look of utter shock on Biz’s face. “Come on.”  
  
“What?” Biz asked, stupidly, a shaking hand coming down to touch Brandon’s cheek, the back of his head. “Bollig, shit.”  
  
Brandon spread his knees a little, getting comfortable, and rolled his shoulders. He already felt better, boneless and satisfied, still panting and sweating like he’d just come off a shift, but it felt _good_ , now.  
  
“Say fucking please,” he said, and got a firm grip on Biz’s hip, lips hovering just in front of his thick, leaking cock. “Hey didn’t you say something about making me take this? All fuckin’ talk, Bissonnette.”  
  
He opened his mouth, looking up through his lashes, and then reeled back as Biz just _came_ , a few drops catching Brandon on the cheek before he got out of the way and just watched as Biz slumped back against the closet door and held his jerking cock. His eyes were closed, color high in his cheeks, and fuck, there was come everywhere and Brandon was so, so into it.  
  
“Dirty pool, man,” Biz choked out without opening his eyes. “Uncool.”  
  
“You came on my _face_ asshole, shut up.” Brandon shot back without heat, and Biz snapped his eyes open, grabbing Brandon’s jaw and studying him with a lazy grin.  
  
“Fucking _hardly_ ,” he said. “Next time...”  
  
“Yeah yeah, next time.” Brandon swiped the back of his hand over his cheek and then wiped it on Biz’s shirt. Biz just laughed.  
  
“Man, we look _ruined_.”  
  
“Well we just fucked in a closet,” Brandon shrugged. “At least I only have to go back to my room looking like this.” He looked Biz up and down, filthy with sweat and come, already with beard burn on his cheeks. “So good luck with that.”  
  
Biz wiped his fingers clean on the hem of his shirt and pulled up his pants. “Fuck off back to your team,” he said mildly. “I can handle myself.”  
  
Brandon shrugged again. “Sure thing.” There was a roll of paper towel right next to his foot, so he tore some off for himself and then passed it up to Biz before hauling himself to his feet with a groan. Dropping to his knees after a game like that had probably not been his best idea ever.  
  
“You alright?” Biz asked when Brandon had pulled up his shorts and wiped the paper towel over his hands and cheeks. Judging by the amused look on his face, it hadn’t really done much good.  
  
“Great,” Brandon said anyway, and held up his aching fist. “See you back here soon, eh?”  
  
Biz’s eyes were bright as he tapped his own fist against Brandon’s. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of you,” he promised warmly, and from him it was as sweet as a kiss goodbye.  
  
“Looking forward to it.” Brandon licked his lips, took one last look at the mess he’d made of Paul _fucking_ Bissonnette, and slipped out the door to head back down to his room.  
  
~  
  
Shawzy had left a lamp on, but was sound asleep in bed when Brandon got back - or he was until Brandon tripped over a suitcase and went crashing into a wall.  
  
“Sorry, dude,” Brandon said quietly as Shawzy sat up, blinking in confusion. “Go back to sleep.”  
  
“Brandon?” Shawzy rubbed his eyes. “Where’ve you been?”  
  
He was sleeping shirtless, as always, and even after having just gotten off, Brandon felt the familiar swell of irritated arousal as he tried not to look. He was so sick of trying not to look.  
  
He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and thought _fuck it._  
  
“Ran into Paul Bissonnette downstairs,” he said shortly, and stripped off his dirty t-shirt, tossing it into his bag. Yeah, he definitely needed another shower.  
  
Shawzy let out a soft gasp. Brandon didn’t know what exactly he’d seen - the fingerprint bruises on his sides, the way his mouth was swollen and red, the fresh streaks of sweat and come over his stomach - but yeah, he was pretty sure it was incriminating.  
  
“Jesus, you two get into it again or something?”  
  
Brandon stilled, staring at the floor, very aware of Shawzy’s gaze still running up and down his body.  
  
Fuck it.  
  
“Yeah, or something,” he said in a rough voice, and glanced at Shawzy just once before turning his back. “I need another shower. Go back to sleep.”  
  
As he shut the bathroom door, he tried to convince himself that whatever he’d seen in Shawzy’s face in that last instant - that flash of heat, of _outrage_ \- definitely wasn’t caused by jealousy.  
  
But he couldn’t stop smiling in satisfaction anyway.  
  
 _(7th of February, Blackhawks @ Coyotes)_  
  
“Holy shit, Shawzy’s dropping gloves on Bissonnette!”  
  
“What? The fuck?” Brandon looked up from fucking with his tape on the bench just in time to see Shawzy reel back and punch Biz square in the face, and then, obviously, immediately get taken kicking and flailing down to the ice.  
  
“Did Biz chirp him or...?”  
  
Bickell shook his head. “Not that I _saw_ , Shawzy just skated right up to him outta nowhere and dropped ‘em. Kid’s a fucking lunatic.”  
  
Brandon nodded absently. Shawzy was being led to the penalty box, one eye already starting to swell up. He was staring straight at Brandon across the ice, and when their gaze met his smile was fierce and proud and _challenging_. He sat down, and cocked his head to the side, as if he was asking a question. And all Brandon could do was laugh and nod his head ‘yes’.


End file.
